father that I am safe.” While the followers slept, Rama, Sita, and Lakshmana rode out to a farther point on the river, crossed it, and went up the embankment. Sumanthra watched them go and then turned back, following Rama’s suggestion that he should reach the capital by another route without waking the crowd.
Dasaratha lay inert, motionless, with his eyes closed—except when a footstep sounded outside, at which time his lips moved as he whispered, “Has Rama come?” When Vasishtha or Kausalya gave some soothing answer, he lapsed into his drowsy state again. “Who is gone to fetch him?”
“Sumanthra,” Vasishtha replied. Finally a footstep did sound, loudly enough to rouse the drowsy King. The door opened, and the King also opened his eyes and exclaimed, “Ah, Sumanthra? Where is Rama?” Before Vasishtha or Kausalya could prevent his reply, Sumanthra explained, “Rama, Sita and Lakshmana crossed the river, went up the bank, and then along a foot track that wound its way through a cluster of bamboos. . . .”
“Oh!” groaned the King. “How, how . . . When?” He could not complete the sentence. Sumanthra tried to say, “Rama wanted to escape the crowd. . . .”
The thought of Rama and Sita on the rough forest track beyond bamboo clusters was too unbearable for Dasaratha. He fell into a swoon and never recovered from the shock. (“He died even as Sumanthra was speaking,” says the poet.)
The King’s death left the country without a ruler for the time being. Vasishtha convened an urgent council of the ministers and officials of the court and decided, “The first thing to do is to preserve the King’s body until Bharatha can come back and perform the funeral.” They kept the body embalmed in a cauldron of oil.
Two messengers were dispatched with a sealed packet for Bharatha, advising him to return to the capital urgently. The messengers were to keep their horses continously at a gallop, and were not to explain anything or convey any information. They were trusted men, experienced in the task of carrying royal dispatches, and could be depended upon not to exceed their orders. Within eight days, they drew up at the portals of Aswapathi’s palace at Kekaya and declared, “We carry an important message for Bharatha.”
Bharatha was overjoyed, and ordered, “Bring them up with the least delay.” He received them in his chamber and asked at once, “Is my father happy and in good health?” The messengers murmured a polite answer, and Bharatha, “How is my brother, Rama?” And they repeated their polite murmuring again, and said, “We bear an epistle for Your Highness.” Bharatha received the sealed message (written on palm leaf and wrapped in silk), opened it, and read: “Your return to Ayodhya is urgently required in connection with state affairs.” He ordered that the message bearers be rewarded liberally and began immediate preparations for his return to Ayodhya, without having the patience even to consult the palace astrologer as to the propitious time for starting on a long journey.
When they reached the outskirts of Ayodhya, Bharatha asked his brother Sathrugna, “Do you notice any change in the atmosphere?”
“No traffic of chariots or horse-riders, no spectacle of people moving about in public squares and highways . . .”
“Streets and homes without any illumination.”
“No sound of music—no happy voices or songs or instruments . . . What oppressive silence! So few to be seen in the streets, and even the one or two we meet look up with such un-smiling faces! What is wrong with them?”
Bharatha drove straight to Dasaratha’s palace, went up, and burst into his chamber with words of greeting on his lips. Not finding the King in his usual place, he paused, wondering where he should seek him. Just then an inner door opened, a maid appeared and said, “Your mother summons you.” Immediately he left for Kaikeyi’s apartment. He made a deep obeisance to her, touched her
Dasaratha lay inert, motionless, with his eyes closed—except when a footstep sounded outside, at which time his lips moved as he whispered, “Has Rama come?” When Vasishtha or Kausalya gave some soothing answer, he lapsed into his drowsy state again. “Who is gone to fetch him?”
“Sumanthra,” Vasishtha replied. Finally a footstep did sound, loudly enough to rouse the drowsy King. The door opened, and the King also opened his eyes and exclaimed, “Ah, Sumanthra? Where is Rama?” Before Vasishtha or Kausalya could prevent his reply, Sumanthra explained, “Rama, Sita and Lakshmana crossed the river, went up the bank, and then along a foot track that wound its way through a cluster of bamboos. . . .”
“Oh!” groaned the King. “How, how . . . When?” He could not complete the sentence. Sumanthra tried to say, “Rama wanted to escape the crowd. . . .”
The thought of Rama and Sita on the rough forest track beyond bamboo clusters was too unbearable for Dasaratha. He fell into a swoon and never recovered from the shock. (“He died even as Sumanthra was speaking,” says the poet.)
The King’s death left the country without a ruler for the time being. Vasishtha convened an urgent council of the ministers and officials of the court and decided, “The first thing to do is to preserve the King’s body until Bharatha can come back and perform the funeral.” They kept the body embalmed in a cauldron of oil.
Two messengers were dispatched with a sealed packet for Bharatha, advising him to return to the capital urgently. The messengers were to keep their horses continously at a gallop, and were not to explain anything or convey any information. They were trusted men, experienced in the task of carrying royal dispatches, and could be depended upon not to exceed their orders. Within eight days, they drew up at the portals of Aswapathi’s palace at Kekaya and declared, “We carry an important message for Bharatha.”
Bharatha was overjoyed, and ordered, “Bring them up with the least delay.” He received them in his chamber and asked at once, “Is my father happy and in good health?” The messengers murmured a polite answer, and Bharatha, “How is my brother, Rama?” And they repeated their polite murmuring again, and said, “We bear an epistle for Your Highness.” Bharatha received the sealed message (written on palm leaf and wrapped in silk), opened it, and read: “Your return to Ayodhya is urgently required in connection with state affairs.” He ordered that the message bearers be rewarded liberally and began immediate preparations for his return to Ayodhya, without having the patience even to consult the palace astrologer as to the propitious time for starting on a long journey.
When they reached the outskirts of Ayodhya, Bharatha asked his brother Sathrugna, “Do you notice any change in the atmosphere?”
“No traffic of chariots or horse-riders, no spectacle of people moving about in public squares and highways . . .”
“Streets and homes without any illumination.”
“No sound of music—no happy voices or songs or instruments . . . What oppressive silence! So few to be seen in the streets, and even the one or two we meet look up with such un-smiling faces! What is wrong with them?”
Bharatha drove straight to Dasaratha’s palace, went up, and burst into his chamber with words of greeting on his lips. Not finding the King in his usual place, he paused, wondering where he should seek him. Just then an inner door opened, a maid appeared and said, “Your mother summons you.” Immediately he left for Kaikeyi’s apartment. He made a deep obeisance to her, touched her
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